From Bad to Worse
by KidWinTinker
Summary: We pick up the story with Heisenberg's daughter, Holly. Holly, much like her father has a dark side. She isn't a chemist however, but has other valuable talents.
1. Chapter 1

Tick Tick Tick Tick. The seconds hand on the clock seemed to move ever so slowly for every person in the room except for Holly. The clock was running down. She was dreading what would happen to her once the minute hand hit the 12 number on the clock signifying the end of the exam. She was already done with the paper, every answer written out neatly, the important parts of the answer underlined, all details included, everything explained with examples.

Now her fingernails, freshly painted and polished, were rapping the desk in front of her, betraying her boredom, but more importantly betraying her restlessness. She looked around, planning her exit strategy. She knew the entire building superbly well, better than any of her class mates and was for the most part an expert in choosing alternate routes to avoid people, but today she would need the shortest route out of the building. Unfortunately, that was the one route that every student knew and that most would take once the exam was over.

Holly was wearing a black shirt with a skull on the front. It was the same shirt that she had worn for the past three days, in fact it was the shirt that she most often recycled. Her hair was short – perfect boycut- she had finished it during the week secure in the fact that she wouldn't bump into any of her classmates at the parlor because the exams were going on and all of them would be too busy studying. There was still a chance that she might see Roberta, god only knew she saw enough of her around Mrs. Gretchen's place, but she gone the day she overheard that Roberta had other plans for the evening. Along with the black shirt went a pair of jeans that seemed like the obvious fit and she fancied that she looked a bit like Elizabeth Salander from the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, though her taste in body ink was less mythological and more mechanical.

Soon her period of respite was over. In a matter of minutes, it would be back to the normal grind. She looked around at her classmates, some of them engrossed in the task at hand, most of them eager for the last paper to get over. Except for certain places, geeks almost never have it easy. Holly had spent all of her schooling life in J P Wynne, her mother felt that it was the best place for her. There really was no going back to anonymity, Aunt Marie had said and mom had retorted saying that it was _late uncle Hank who had made sure of that_. That led to a big fight in which Mom and her sister ended up yelling at each other in increasingly high pitched voices and at one point Mom was on the verge of flinging a glass at Aunt Marie when Flynn entered the room unannounced and took hold of the situation. From then on things returned to normal as they always did whenever Flynn was around, and the two sisters made their peace and although it was not an uneasy peace, everyone in the house knew it was only a matter of time before the next quarrel.

Holly always felt safer when her brother was around, but his visits were getting rarer and rarer. His job kept him busy most of the time and it was only during the vacations that she ever saw him around. The good thing was that it wasn't too far away. It was the interregnum that Holly was worried about- the period in between the last exam and the beginning of the break. That and the first few days back after the break.

A small bell sounded. 'Five minutes, left" announced the new teacher, Mr. Pauling. "Don't confuse me with Linus" he had joked on his first day. While Holly was one of the few in her class to actually understand the joke, she couldn't bring herself to find it funny. This was just one of those guys who tried too hard to show that he wasn't like everyone else. Probably, one of those tricks they told teachers to use in order to let them get to know the students a bit better. Just to show how different he was, Mr. Pauling took attendance in reverse order. This meant that Holly was up early in the roll call, her last name being White.

_That just might be good news, this time_ thought Holly. "Two minutes left" quipped Pauling, "start tying up your answer sheets and make sure you've filled in your details." So much for uniqueness. Holly dutifully, checked that her answer sheets were tied (for the fifth time) and then feeling a little relieved that she might get out early before _the others, _caught up with her began doodling. She drew a little conical flask on her desk and a Bunsen burner below it. It was her favorite doodle, she had drawn it a million times and it now took her only a few seconds to draw, and she had a tattoo of the same on her back. A tattoo that nobody knew about, because if Mom found out about it well…. Holly didn't want to think about what would happen then. Holly signed this doodle, with the ubiquitous H2O, and then stopped for a second to admire her work. She then picked up her answer script again, even though she was sick of looking at the same pages by now.

The bell rand loudly. "Pens down!" boomed Mr. Pauling. It was amazing how people suddenly revealed a different side, Pauling who was on the surface amiable and friendly could suddenly turn into an authority figure with a powerful voice. Indeed, when it was important for his career, when he had to get people to listen to him that was exactly what he did. It made Holly wonder what he was doing in J P Wynne High School, if he was smart enough to pick up those subtle social skills. Then again you could never tell if this was just teaching tips 101 at work again. It was strange how these things worked, but then Holly reminded herself of her father. He had been a brilliant man as well, but he had spent most of his life in this farce of an educational institute as well. _Until he found another way to make the money he needed._

Holly handed in her paper. Sure enough, Pauling had decided to do his reverse routine thing again and called out her name "White, Holly". The low murmuring that had just started amongst the students died down as it usually did whenever her name was called out. She had lived with it her entire life and it didn't bother her not in the slightest. She wished it would just stop right there. Unfortunately, it didn't. it never did.

"Holly, White, I repeat Holly White, please report to the Principal's office" boomed an all to familiar voice over the school's speaker system. Holly groaned, inwardly. Great. This was the last thing she needed. Why couldn't she ever catch a break?

Holly handed in her paper, avoided looking around at her classmates and proceeded to the principal's office, where she had been several times before. Several pairs of eyes followed her out of the room, and as soon as she was out the door a cruel sounding cacophony of laughter broke out from within.

Principal Carmen's room was the same as it had been for the past sixteen years. She was one of the exceptions. Almost every staff member wanted to rebrand themself, do something new to wash away the stain from their name. Make it look like they were not associated with JP Wynne. A large number of Carmen's staff had left not only the school but New Mexico itself. Carmen had heard that some of them had even gone as far as portraying that they hardly spent any time in J P Wynne, many of them deleting photographs from their Facebook accounts and other forms of webpage history. It paid to be in a position of power more than the average person knew, mused Carmen to herself. She had gotten several calls in the immediate aftermath of the events, asking her to verify resumes and other credentials. It seemed that her own reputation had gone untarnished – not surprising since she had taken efforts to keep it that way since the day she had arrived in New Mexico. She shuddered at some of the memories, including the one where _he_ tried to make a move on her. At the time she had written it off as a mere mishap, a dying man trying to work through his suffering, but when the truth was revealed – when they came to know everything about him and all that he had done, she was suddenly frightened. She wondered whether she would have maintained her silence if she knew what he was capable of at the time.

She had tried to talk them out of leaving on a couple of occasions. She had held a meeting announcing that it was in everyone's best interest that they continue and the local authorities had cleaned up the mess, allowing the school to function once more as it normally. But those were just the teachers. She had much bigger problems when students starting pulling out. Some of the students had wealthy parents.

But she had persevered through, sticking with the school and never once complaining about those who left. With the passage of time, the reputation that the school had maintained up until its darkest days ultimately paid off and paid off well. After a few years, Carmen found herself being recognized more and more often and the name of J P Wynne soon became common even among the kitty parties that the wives of the wealthy attended. There were elements apart from just the works of the school that were at play of course. Gretchen and Elliot Schwartz, the owners of Gray Matter, already famous for their acts of philanthropy, exceeded their own reputation every year with their massive donations to the public of Albuquerque. J P Wynne High School was among those lucky recipients. The school soon had a gym that made their old one pale by comparison, a new computer lab with state of the art facilities and a brand new auditorium (which meant that the gym didn't have to double up as an auditorium anymore). The alarm system in case of fires and other emergencies was much more reliable – this had the double benefit of providing peace of mind to those parents prone to worrying as well to improve the valuation of the school in general, for even these things can attain the status of luxury good.

Carmen had replaced the staff with a combination of personally teaching a number of the classes as well as hiring out new staff members. Among those that she hired, she made sure that each was well qualified with at least a master's degree in their respective subject.

She counted herself amongst the few people who actually benefitted from the global recession, for otherwise she would not have been lucky enough to find so many new hires in so short a time. There were a variety of candidates that had appeared for the job interview. Some of them over enthusiastic, while others were simply more happy to answer their questions in monotones, their faces blank but nevertheless eager to know how much they would be getting paid. The infusion of cash from Gray Matter was enough to seal the deal for at least the best of the candidates that came for the interviewing process.

Long story short, a decade and a half down the line and Carmen Molina was waiting in her office, not to see a member of her staff, but rather a student. The daughter of the most famous, (notorious may be more apt), person to ever hold employment at J P Wynne, and not surprisingly one of the most talked about students at her school.

Carmen did not know why, but she always found herself a little nervous when ever she held these meetings with Holly. It was not supposed to be like this, when Holly was just a teenager, clearly one with many problems and yet Carmen often felt like she was the one complaining all the time.

If Holly had any problems at school, she certainly never showed it. The fact is that the girl was smart. Really smart. That actually worried people more than anything else. Her father was a highly intelligent man as well. There was a persistent rumor that as legendary DEA agent Hank Schrader's dying words were an admission to Holly's father that he was the smartest man he had ever met in his whole life. That was moments before he was shot in the face by a lunatic white supremacist.

Carmen knew that she should be supportive of Holly, the girl did come from a broken home after all. Her mother was a wreck after all those years of abuse at the hands of that monster. It was rumored that she had tried running into the arms of an old friend who ran his own business, but that the business had run into some trouble of its own and that it had never quite recovered from that. Her aunt and uncle at one time were always close to the family, till his uncle's death. The two sisters now shared a roof. Her brother, the poor boy, shared her father's name but preferred to go by Flynn. It was the name he had assumed even when his father used to work at J P Wynne and that he was apparently called at home. It bothered Carmen that he still stuck with that name, but then there was no doubt in her mind that Flynn was the one holding the family together – whatever was left of it anyway. Flynn _was_ the provider though. On his eighteenth birthday, his benefactors had provided a large sum of money – the exact amount was never disclosed, but it was legitimate (although you could never tell) and this time, there was no shady business that mysteriously appeared out of nowhere. Since there was no need to hide the money or to make it look like it came out of thin air, the public assumed that at least this was legitimate. More than that however, the involvement of the two benefactors were the factor that most dismissed suspicion for they were none other than Gretchen and Elliot Schwartz. Carmen often mused that when looked at it from that angle, the family was still well connected which meant that they were still a powerful family. She wondered whether that was the real reason she paid Holly as much attention as she did. She thought about it and after a point decided that it really didn't matter that much. Who's to say whose motive was exactly what in this muddled up world anyway? She was being the dutiful principal, and if it so happened, that her interaction with Holly should one day lead to her meeting the Schwartz's, then so be it. So few people talked about them in any case.

Following an interview on Charlie Rose, and a column before that in the New York Times, by Andrew Ross Sorkin, their reputation had taken a severe beating. It did not have quite the impact, that people expected it to have and though Grey Matter stock prices experienced a sharp decline, the company had still survived. The Schwartz's were still obnoxiously wealthy and Gretchen's picture was still published on page 3 of the newspaper every party that she attended.

Carmen could not complain, things were the same with JP Wynne. Her outstanding success as an administrator, she told herself, was willingness to acknowledge that the place she ran was not a sacred temple of learning, as a poet might say, but simply a business establishment. A business establishment, like any other, which was run with the motive of profit. That was the simple truth, and she knew it.

There was a knocking at the door. Carmen silently took a deep breath. "Come in" she said, in a voice that she hoped sounded composed and in control.

Holly entered the room and Carmen felt her fist tightening around the pencil she was holding. "Take a seat, please" said Carmen, while deliberately not looking up from where she was working. Holly did as she was told. The chair made a scraping noise as she pulled it back, sat down and then dragged it forward again.

Holly looked around at the room, wondering what it was this time. She got called in here more often than any other student that she knew. Then again, she didn't know too many of the other students. The room looked exactly the same as it had every other time. Holly looked at the desktop, and made a low disapproving noise. It was ignored by Carmen. "Who keeps a desktop anymore?" she wondered, but knew better than to ask. People did all sorts of things all the time, clung on to old habits and past memories. It was quite strange actually, and Holly wondered why there was no subject in the curriculum on psychology. It was of such critical social significance, and the damn idiots didn't want kids to learn it. It didn't matter though, Holly already knew enough of it, to get by. She had spent her time reading Freud and Kahneman, but most of what she had gleaned about the human psyche had not come from any textbook, more from the fact that she noticed people when they thought that she was not looking at them.

"Holly, is there something you want to tell me?" Carmen suddenly quipped, breaking Holly's train of thought. Holly groaned inwardly. This was going to be a long session.


	2. Horse with no name

"_laa la laaaaaahh luh, lah luh lah luh, Lah lu lah, luhh lah_

"_laa la laaaaaahh luh, lah luh lah luh, Lah lu lah, luhh lah_

_After 2 days, in the desert sun, my skin began to turn red,_

_After 3 days, in the desert fun, I was looking at a river bed,_

_And the story it told of a river that flowed, made me sad to think it was dead"_

Flynn was very old school in some respects. He still drove an Aztek Pontiac. It was the same car that his dad had gifted him. For a handicapped citizen, Flynn was pretty good behind the wheel. There were few manual transmission cars still on the road, with fewer Pontiacs, and Flynn enjoyed moving the joystick style gear around in its socket. Right next to the gear was a bright blue citrus flavored drink that Flynn picked up every morning from the coffee joint closest to home.

For miles ahead there seemed to be a huge pile-up of cars on the expressway, and there was seemingly no end to forever and ever line…. Flynn sighed. He hated being stuck not knowing what to do next. It stirred up bad memories….

"_You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name…."_

Leaning back slightly and adjusting his seat, Flynn realized that like all the others he was going to be stuck here for a while. To his right and just a little bit in front, was a beaten down truck that looked like it had taken far more trips than what it was built for. The next second he glanced in the rearview mirror, a few rows behind he couldn't help but spot the latest Toyota luxury segment vehicle to hit the market. They _were_ designed to be noticed, after all. Flynn estimated himself to be somewhere between the two income brackets. This had not occurred merely through the normal course of events. Who exactly did mom and aunt Marie think they were kidding? Flynn knew where the money had come from and exactly why it was given to him. Even in death, he managed to get his way. It had to be _him_.

Flynn didn't consider himself a cynic. It was all too easy to paint a rosy picture of the world and then pretend that nothing bad ever happened. It was certainly stupid to try and convince yourself that everything was great and then be surprised when things don't go your way. Above all else, he was a realist. There was no need to shy away from what should have been the most obvious explanation.

Gretchen and Elliot Swartz were not good people. They were not particularly evil, nor vindictive in any way - but they were a far cry from being good people. Flynn knew that they couldn't have voluntarily parted with a sum of close to 10 million dollars without any press coverage. Nor was it the kind of story that one could tell at an evening dinner party, and look like angels. Besides, they had done enough of that kind of thing on a much bigger scale and the press was there to notice every detail of that event. It was around the time, when Flynn had received the last phone call. It felt like another life time so long ago, when he was a young and foolish man.

The authorities weren't fooled either. The only reason that mom didn't have the FBI hounding her was that it was a closed case. They had found the body, identified it and it had made the headlines. No prosecutor could make a name for himself from it, no detective could spend a career on it and no conspiracy theorist could claim that Heisenberg was still alive and handing out the blue stuff.

The fallout publicity had been bad, but after a while the public tends to forget, and both Skyler White and Flynn could walk the streets unrecognized once again.

But other facts were forgotten as well and the injustice rankled. Such as the fact that the people who came out looking like the altruistic heroes in his mother's eyes were the ones who had helped create him.

"_In the desert, you cant remember your name, coz there ain't no one for to give you no pain…."_

There was video footage of Gretchen saying on public television, that the "sweet kind brilliant man" that was once a part of Gray Matter technologies was no longer there. In the fallout since Heisenberg's death, that video had had skyrocketed in the number of views it received on Youtube. In fact, Holly had once shown him a list of top 10 Youtube videos, that formed some weird category of it's own, and this one was at number 3. Number 1 was a two hour long documentary about about some internet prodigy who had killed himself under duress from judicial overreach. Number 2 had something to do with scientologists. Flynn didn't remember what else was on that list.

A sharp honking sound from behind shook Flynn back to reality. He started up the engine, and the entire stream of traffic moved forward, but not for long. He went about 20 feet and had to park again.

Flynn rolled down the window and peered out side. He could just see around the curve of the road from here. There seemed to be a steady stream of smoke rising. Must be an accident that somebody managed to get themselves into. It could have been a fire that may have started at a gas station or maybe at a departmental store, but Flynn somehow found it hard to imagine that it would have been something so big that it would spilled out on to the road and caused this huge pile up. Despite the bad publicity, and rumors of a still somewhat active underground drug scene, Albuquerque was still mostly peaceful.

Flynn turned the song off. He knew that today was not a good day to get into a melancholic mood. He had work to do and a job to focus on.


	3. A goodman in Omaha

Right in the middle of the busiest part of the Dundee Theatre, where the air itself seemed noisy, was a Cinnabon store. The Cinnabon store was apparently run by a staff of five people - all of them seemingly overqualified. The manager of the store, whoever he was had done an excellent job training them.

There were two pretty ladies always at the counter who had big smiles for all the customers. They knew the names of each and every one of the cinnabons and the prices. Their hair was always neatly maintained, and the lipstick always freshly applied. They were the ones who spent most of their time at the counter, attracting customers and selling bakery items. But the money didn't come in because they had attractive features. Men wanted food almost as badly as they wanted women, so they were likely to purchase a sizeable quantity each time they stopped by in any case. What distinguished this Cinnabon from all of its competitors was that the sales women had a way with words.

The conversations to be had at the Cinnabon counter varied depending on who it was at the counter. If it was an old lady she would be told that her grandchildren absolutely love the chocobon. A younger woman would be told that a strawberry lemonatta would go splendidly well with the natural colour of her cheeks. A mother of three would be engaged in conversation, sometimes upto half an hour before she left with a box of Pecanbon bites.

The accountant for the Cinnabon was a bookish looking man, bespectacled with a formal shirt and a tie. He may have been Chilean, judging by his appearance and accent, but there was no way to say for sure. It was rare that he approached the front of the desk, but there was the one incident. He had spoken at length to a young man, giving him advice and telling him about how life takes you in strange directions. He had started out wanting to be a chemical engineer, somewhere along the way decided that his true passion lay in cooking chicken and then a failed career saw him end up as a cashier at a Cinnabon. No one ever knew that the reason he had failed at most of those jobs was because he was incompetent. Chemical Engineering was a difficult endeavor for anyone no doubt. But the accountant who now went by Mike only ever revealed to one person, that he never cut it as a chef because he suffered from dyscalculia. It was hard when your order doubled, but you didn't know how much spice to add in a bigger vessel.

Hans Rolfe Litt, walked through the entrance of the Dundee Theatre, taking a minute to look at all the pictures that were plastered up on the walls. Most of them were endorsing products of some kind, such as watches, perfumes and lingerie. In what seemed like a lifetime ago, Hans Rolfe Litt, used to advertise for legal services though what he actually did wasn't quite restricted to arguing in courts on behalf of a client or spending hours pouring through a document. He was known by a different name in those days.

Hans had been a speed reader since he was a child, a habit that had served him well for the most of his adult life, it could be argued. It was hard to say which happened more often - whether it got him out of trouble or into it. Hans stopped by the newspaper store, picked up the latest copy and put it into the briefcase that he always seemed to be carrying. The small staff that he managed in his day job, often joked that he took it with him to bed and used it as a pillow and that maybe his wife had left him because he chose the briefcase over her.

There was something about today though. It never took Hans more than five minutes to read the newspaper end to end, keeping himself abreast of all the political activity in the nation, the latest gossip from Hollywood and the long list of human rights violations happening in different places across the world. Hans usually reserved this five minutes for himself just after his early morning coffee, and running through the events of the week, taking a look at the haul that was brought in. Mike did a good job of updating him these days, and it had taken Hans nearly forever to make him this good.

Franchise owners were moderately wealthy people, and Hans had arranged the paperwork so that this particular outlet was registered on his name. His staff didn't know it, but each one of them owned more and earned more than Hans. On paper at least.

Mike had three outlets registered in his name, the two girls at the counter, Kathy and Marjorie had two each. Eight outlets in the state, and all the income was routed right back to an account handled by Mike. Well, that's how it looked on paper at least.

As Hans approached the CInnabon, there was a pause, just a few seconds, but long enough that anyone observing would know that someone important had just walked in. "Good morning, Mr. Litt" chimed his staff, one after the other. With a nod to all of them, Hans walked in and started looking around. Everything was fresh and looked appetizing.

Standing 2 feet away from the main counter, where Kathy was whispering something to a young man, Hans surveyed the floor. He had an office two floors above, where he would not be disturbed. It was just next to the bookstore, where he stopped by everyday.

There was a new Neil Gaiman book to be released today. It was called the Ocean at the end of the Lane, and Gaiman had described the book as one that adults could relate to, especially those who had never lost their inner child. All geniuses had their eccentricities, mused Hans, though he wasn't sure which was the cause and which was the effect.

He checked his watch, and it read 8:45 am. The bookstore opened at 9:10 am, though they advertised as opening at 9. Joanne, the cashier at the bookstore had probably kept a copy for him. He did walk in there almost every day, usually in the morning at around 9:10am (not exactly co-incidental to when it opened), and bought something. Hans wondered if she knew anything about him at all, for instance whether she knew that he ran the Cinnabon downstairs. She never asked why he always paid in cash. She never asked whether he actually read all the books that he bought. She never asked if he enjoyed some more than others. But whenever there was an advertisement of a new release, he was usually there, first in line, to grab it fresh off the press.

That suited Hans well enough. Today was going to be a good day, better than most and Hans knew that he had worked hard towards building this life for himself. He had made his share of mistakes before

The first was that he had associated with dangerous people in his past life. Unstable men who always attracted trouble even if they did not go actively looking for it. It was true that he had in fact marketed himself for exactly that type of situation. He was known as a _criminal lawyer_, with an emphasis on the former word as opposed to the latter.

The second mistake was that he had failed to learn from his co-workers. He rationalized that perhaps he could not be blamed for that since he was so busy keeping his head above water, he hardly had time to reflect and change his ways. That had changed, once he moved to Omaha. He had learnt to vet his employees and invest time in their training now. The last bodyguard that he employed had learnt a number of skills in his training, including an excellent poker face, but when push came to shove, he was well in over his head. The law enforcement had seen to that.

This lot was much better. Kathy stepped away from the counter and came to the back of the store, where they kept their microwave and bent over to put something in it. Hans gently slapped her on the bottom and said "Come over to the top, once your done" and with that he walked out and was on his way. The rest of the staff grinned and Kathy turned a deep red.

As Hans got into the lift, the built in television was announcing something about an explosion in Albuquerque. Some things never change, he noted absent mindedly, without giving the news program more than a tenth of his attention. The time on the show displayed 9:05 am, which matched the time on his watch. It was still too early for Blosssoms the book store to have opened.

Five minutes were left for it to open and five minutes was all Hans needed to finish going through the news for the day. It took him about two minutes and soon Hans was into the fifth page of the newspaper, when he came across the Albuquerque explosion again. This time it caught his attention fully. More specifically, the details of the explosion, regarding who the perpetrator was, really piqued his interest. There was apparently a madman on the loose. He was in his thirties and was apparently screaming about how they all needed to die, when he lit up a Molotov cocktail and hurled it into the nearest gas station.

Hans fired up the laptop and quickly did a Google search for news regarding the incident. The paper article hadn't captured all the details, for one thing they had missed out on the name of the gas station. These days all the gas stations were owned by franchise owners, much like the Cinnabon chains. The name of this particular station caused Hans eyes to go wide.

There came a knocking sound at the door and Kathy entered with a mug in her hand. "You forgot your Coffee, Mr. Litt" she said in a sweet voice. When he didn't respond, she leaned over and saw that he was looking at an article about something called the A1 gas station.

Mr. Litt had always been jovial, a clever man, no doubt, but lively, full of humor and always had something clever to say. She remembered like it was just yesterday that he had walked up to her and offered her a steady job, after Mark had left her with a bloody nose. Hans had called her Rudolph and told her that he needed help guiding his sleigh.

"Mr. Litt, is everything all right?" she asked. "It couldn't possibly be him, could it?" he replied. It didn't look like he was talking to her. A second later, he looked up and thanked her and apologized for "channeling Poirot".

"I need to take the day off, got a bit of thinking to do" said Hans. He closed the suitcase and much to Kathy's disappointment, left the room without saying another word.

As he walked by the bookstore, Joanne raised her eyes up. It was surprising to see him walk by on book launch day without actually coming in. She had already kept his copy ready, with only the actual billing left undone. Quietly, Joanne put the book back down. She knew he would be back tomorrow and when he came she would know better than to ask why he didn't come in on launch day.


	4. Busted

In the dark neighborhood of Albuquerque, once notorious for the prevalence of the purest form of methamphetamine, a new breed of crime had sprung up.

"Open up wide!" screamed Crowley. Crowley who on this particular day was dressed in shorts (as he was on most days), was too inebriated to raise his finger and point at Tina's mouth. He ended up pointing south of his target, _much further south._

"Get out of here! Not in a million years, creep.." said Tina. She was frowning as she looked at Crowley.

Crowley tilted his head sideways, as if to see whether she looked different from that angle. He found that it didn't really matter, she was out of his league and it seemed she wouldn't be willing, unless….

"Hey, tell you what" he rasped, scratching his chest with his left hand and holding a bag of weed in the other. "I'll slash the price by half, and alls you gotta do is give me five minutes of your time in side that beauty over there."

Tina looked over to where Crowley gestured and saw a dusty old 1990s car.

"You drive around in that piece of trash" Tina said, breaking out into a laugh. She stopped when noticed that Crowley didn't find it funny. "I mean, with the amount of weed you move, I figured you'd be doing much better for yourself" she stuttered hoping she had mollified Crowley.

"Yeah, I know my business all right" muttered Crowley, somewhat non-committal. He turned back to Tina to propose another counter offer, but before he could continue negotiating he was interrupted by another vehicle pulling up.

The front tire of the new car went through a puddle and splashed dirt all over Crowley's. Six men got out of it, most of them sporting tattoos, some of them stinking and all of them carrying weapons.

"Run for it" whispered Crowley to Tina before pushing her towards the newcomers and then bolting in the opposite direction. He didn't get very far.

The men caught Tina who began to scream. They then moved out of the way. The car they were in flashed its headlights as Tina noticed that there was one more inside, still at the wheel.

Crowley made it about fifteen feet before he felt the impact of steel travelling at traffic speed, just behind his knees. He stumbled over the bonnet, hit the windshield and fell on the ground.

He then started laughing. "Look, its Rasputin and his daughter!" he said pointing at Tina and her bearded captor. She felt the man's grip on her arm tighten at the comment. She tried to wrestle free from his grip and was rewarded with a blow across her face for her efforts.

As Tina recovered from the impacts and checked for blood on her lower lip, one of the men from behind her moved forward toward Crowley. Tina shook her head and moved the hair from her eyes. She was wearing shorts and sneakers, but the adrenaline was beginning to flow rapidly now and she didn't feel the chill. If only she could make a run for it, she began to think when she remembered what happened to Crowley just a few moments ago.

BWARGHHHH!

Crowley had vomited. He lay at the feet of a six foot tall bearded man who wore jeans and had a crowbar in his hand. "Fuck me" the man swore as he took a step backwards to avoid the growing pool of liquid that was a mixture of blood and vomit.

Crowley began laughing uncontrollably and Tina couldn't make out whether it was delirium from being run over or the fact that he was drunk before all of this happened.

"She's gonna kick your asses man! I've seen her do it before to a bunch of guys twice as tough as you'll" said Crowley pointing.

Tina opened her mouth to speak, but wasn't able to make any noise. She settled for frantically shaking her head from side to side. But none of the men were paying attention to her. The man holding her arm let go of it and reached into his sock to pull out another knife.

Tina then realized that Crowley hadn't pointed to her, but instead behind her.

"I'll call you back Flynn" said Holly as she put the phone into her pocket. This was going to be fun.


	5. On whose account do we spill blood

Charlotte sat at her desk playing solitaire on the computer. It was a Monday and it was a well established fact amongst girls her age that Mondays were created to be despised. But her job provided her money so that she could go out on Friday night, so it was a necessary evil.

She looked around and all of her colleagues had stepped out for a smoke. She couldn't stand cigarettes herself, so she every now and then she found herself alone with a computer in front of her. This was a slow day and nothing about it looked like it was about to change.

The air conditioning was on at full blast, and the room was freezing but it gave her an excuse to wear that green sweater that Mark had told her she looked cute in. From down the hallway came the ding of an elevator and from it stepped a man in his late twenties. He was walking on crutches and even from this distance, Charlotte could make out an unkempt mop of hair that made him look younger than he actually was. She would have considered flirting with him, but the disability was an obvious turn off and there was no point in pursuing something she knew she would never be able to bring herself to follow through with.

As he hobbled in, there was an odd confidence in his manner, and a sense of purpose as well that for some reason caused a knot in Charlotte's stomach. Why did she suddenly feel that something important was about to happen?

As he entered he looked around the office and saw that there was indeed only one person in the room, so he followed through on the next obvious step and pulled a chair across from her.

Charlotte, understanding who she was about to have a conversation with, straightened up and minimized the game of Solitaire.

"My name is Walter White Jr." he introduced himself.

"Yes sir" she said. Of course she knew who he was. All bank employees were required to know the names and faces of all customers who kept more than a certain amount in liquid assets with the bank.

Charlotte found herself slightly nervous, but managed to compose herself enough to perform the necessary courtesies. "Would you like some tea, Mr. White?" she asked.

"It depends on what you have."

"Oh we have quite a few varieties" quipped Charlotte, feeling less confident than she appeared. It didn't really matter since her supervisor wasn't there, but she hadn't practiced this routine for nothing.

Flashing a sweet smile and walking over to the nearest door, Charlotte put her head through and spoke a few quick, inaudible words to someone. She then turned around to face the most important customer of the bank that she had met and listed out the options.

The man seemed to hesitate for a second and then said "I'm surprised to hear that you have chamomile tea. Looks like someone in this office has a taste for tea."

Charlotte didn't notice the pause in his speech, which was just long enough for him to see her reaction. With perfect timing he continued speaking "Never did myself interested in Chamomile tea, seems like something only prudes would drink. I guess I'll go with the lemon flavor. I would prefer a coffee, but I just had one on the way over – don't want to over caffeinate you see." There was a flourish of the hand with the last 'you see', as if to indicate that Charlotte really should see. To an untrained eye, it would actually seem like she did.

"I'll get the tea ready" said Charlotte and stepped out of the room for a second. Flynn relaxed and exhaled. He had timed his visit perfectly. It was however unfortunate that Charlotte would not be able to finish off his business today, but he still got valuable enough time alone in the bank without creating a fuss. The last time he came in and it seemed like the place swooped down on him. It was the first time he understood, the tendency of the Swartz' to have their finances taken care of by an accountant.

Flynn couldn't afford that luxury. There wasn't an accountant in the country who would work for Heisenberg's heir and be suspicious of a large donation even if it came from the founders of Gray Matter technologies. Flynn sometimes joked with his mom that she and aunt Marie were the only ones who still believed that Gretchen and Elliot actually had any good intentions in parting with a sum of over 9 million dollars. He didn't remember what the sum was exactly, but there was something about that number, which was for some reason peculiarly specific. Even odder than that was that they were willing to go to great lengths to ensure that they didn't spend anything beyond that amount irrespective of how much the White family actually received. It wasn't an easy time. Flynn had idolized Elliot and Gretchen in his teens. All of which seemed like a lifetime ago now…

Flynn's thoughts were interrupted when Charlotte returned to the room, to ask him whether he wanted sugar with his tea. He told her to bring the sugar. He knew how to mix it himself.

'better get down to work' mumbled a small voice in the back of his head. He reached into his bag and pulled out his papers. For once it seemed that he had gotten everything right. All the papers were there. He had taken Holly's signatures the previous evening. He didn't try to keep her from reading it; he knew she wouldn't even bother. He took out his standard ball point pen that he preferred to sign with. Finally, he took out the packet of photographs and kept them at the edge of the table.

Charlotte walked in with a tray on which was a teapot along with an empty cup and saucer. From behind him Flynn heard the ding of an elevator, and a stream of bank employees poured in. one of them was a young twenty odd years old man who made a beeline for Charlotte.

Charlotte turned around excitedly to face her young beau, but as she did so, she managed to spill the flask of lemon tea all over the packet of photographs that Flynn had brought with him.

It took her a second, but she quickly realized the horror of what she had done.

"Let me clean that up" she started, but fell silent when Flynn held a hand up motioning her to stop. A silence filled the room.

"Would you be willing to accept a digital image to open an account?" asked Flynn in an even tempered voice that betrayed no irritation.

Eager to make amends for her _faux pas_, Charlotte nodded hastily first, then looked over to Mark for support. Mark as if sensing his cue replied "We can surely finish the paperwork formalities Mr. White, we will need a photo, but I think we can arrange to have it printed ourselves. It is the least that we can do for esteemed patrons such as…."

Flynn waved another hand and cut him off before he could finish. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Holly.

She picked up on the third ring. Flynn began explaining the situation to her, but what caught his ear was the sound that seemed to be coming from the background at Holly's end. It sounded like there was a woman screaming in the background.

"Are you watching television?" asked Flynn, worried about the answer that he would receive.

"I'll call you back, Flynn" said Holly, just before she hung up.


	6. Take Down

Holly sized up the situation, not because she was scared. It was just something she knew most people did before entering into a fight and she figured that there was probably a good reason for it. Then again, she wasn't like most people. Most people would walk by the alley. Most people would never bother to look twice at what they saw. A few of them would report them to the police, something that Flynn had recommended to her.

_Flynn - her older brother. He knew. He must have known all along._

The men had guns. That was something, she would find hard to negotiate. She was faster than all of them for sure, but nobody could dodge a well fired bullet. She would have to time this right. It was not her first encounter against armed men, but the danger never reduced between encounters.

There was a girl, probably someone from her school, being held by one of the men. Holly would be recognized for sure, but she doubted very much that the girl would survive this to tell the tale in any case. Her priority was to take these creeps down, so that they don't find another victim.

She looked down the alley at one end to see a man dressed in shorts, bleeding all over and laughing and pointing hysterically at her. It seemed to her that she had met him before. That wouldn't be particularly surprising, since scum was attracted to this part of the world. No matter how many warnings you gave them, there was a certain kind of person that would never change. The street vermin laughed and pointed at her. He was in fact laughing at his assailants. That sealed it. Holly had definitely seen him before, even she could not recall when.

The bearded man wearing a green denim jacket and khakhi trousers was the one closest to Holly. He lunged at her, but was quickly met with a blow that collapsed his wind pipe.

In an instant the mood seemed to change. The gangsters got ready and pulled out their guns and took aim, but before they fired, Holly had grabbed her victim and held him up as a human shield.

He was dead weight since he was struggling to breathe, but at least for now, Holly had some kind of a defense, a sort of chip that her life would be worth something.

The men hesitated. Apparently, they didn't just forsake their own die. They were only merciless when it came to others.

"Let him go, or the girl gets" yelled their leader. They had all but given up on the victim in shorts, who was now throwing up a fresh pile of bodily fluids onto the ground around him.

Holly, keeping the body of the man nearly twice her size and certainly more than her thrice her body weight, as a shield in front of her, started moving forward, inching her way closer to the others. The lesser the distance between her and them, the less of an advantage their guns would be.

Once she was within five feet of the next thug, she dropped her first victim and claimed her second – by dropping him with a kick to the side of his head. The girl who was being made a victim, made one last effort at escape by stamping on her captor's feet and then making a dash for it.

She was about to be intercepted by another man, except that Holly had taken a short run and flown into is side, knocking him off his feet and leaving him breathless.

The numbers however, were still skewed. The girl did not make it another three steps before she was seized by her original captor, roughed around for five seconds and shoved into the backseat of the car. The door slammed shut, three of the remaining men got into the car and the vehicle sped off.

So much for loyalty, thought Holly. That left her, the delinquent in the corner that was falling apart and three hardened criminals all left writhing in pain. It hadn't taken much more than a single blow to any one of them, to leave them in this condition. If left alone, they would probably not ever be fit to partake in any criminal activity again.

Still, since there was always that half chance that they might make it to a hospital and start describing what had happened in the alley. This was business that needed to be taken care of.

Holly picked up the body of the first man that she had left gasping for air. She quickly put him out of his misery by snapping his neck. She did this while the others watched. Then for effect she dragged him over to the edge of the alleyway, where the concrete slab met the road.

The man reached for his gun to find that it was missing. Holly looked over at him, laughed and then pulled out the weapons that she had stolen in the melee. It was amazing how much one could hide underneath a sweatshirt.

She tossed a knife over to the man to see if he would take the bait. He did.


	7. Blood bath

TRIGGER WARNING: Extreme violence

They always took the bait. It was the way their brains were wired. No matter how badly, Holly had attacked one of them, no matter how badly she broke the body parts of their comrades, they always took the bait.

No one could bear the thought that they would lose in a fight to a thirteen year old girl who looked malnourished. Some even tried to warn her off. One even told her that he didn't attack little girls. She had left him a paraplegic.

Now this one, went for the knife. That was okay. As long as he couldn't shoot at her, it would be an easy victory.

He picked up the knife and advanced on her. The smile on his face was one of confidence. Clearly, he had done this before to some other girl. As he closed in on Holly, he took a swipe at her. She ducked and stood up in the same spot. The knife had hit nothing but air. The man brought the knife in for a second swipe. His motion made a wooshing sound as he missed again.

"Is it my turn now?" asked Holly, managing to sound bored.

"Huh?" said the six foot criminal, whose face had turned from confident to frustrated to concerned in the last twenty seconds.

"Don't be an idiot, it's my turn to try" said Holly.

In reply, he tried to grab her with his other hand. It seemed as if he was going to get a grip on her hair, when at the last minute Holly's hand came out of nowhere and had a vice like grip on her assailants'. She tightened her grip slightly and the man dropped the knife with a cry and used his free hand to try and wrench open the grip.

"You would have had a better chance striking me with that" Holly observed, pointing at the dropped weapon. The assailant-turned-victim whimpered, then swore. He reached down to the ground where he dropped it to pick it up. Holly waited till his fingers were clasped around the handle, before kicking it out of reach.

"I'll cut you open, you little bitch" he snarled.

"You mean like this?" Holly asked as she made a swift motion with her other hand. Her victim felt a quick wishing sensation just above his right eye and was bleeding profusely before he knew it.

"Aren't you going to answer me?" asked Holly, "Is that the way you wanted it? I'm quite good at this you know. It's the only reason I always leave a few fingernails uncut."

One of the other men stirred.

"Let's see if your partner is more fun" said Holly. She let go of the man's wrist and in the same motion, whacked him on the back of his head with her palm extended before he could sound out his relief.

As the man made it to his feet, Holly took a short hop and reached the knife that she had kicked. She picked it up, came back to where she was standing and then threw the knife over her new opponent, the same way she had seen Aunt Marie throw a bone to the street dog that lived near her house.

This man had an orange beard that extended the length of his chest. He had rippling muscles, with no tattoos painted on any of them. Holly made a mental note of that in case she would need it later.

But playtime was never tempered by details such as those. The man picked up the knife, stared straight at Holly and proceeded bend the blade, with his left hand holding the pointy end of the blade and his right the point where the blade met the handle.

Holly giggled at that. Fuck school, this is the real world she thought. That bitch Carmen had some nerve telling her that she should be looking out for herself in the real world. But that was alright. This was where she took out all her frustrations. Then she could be sweet, clueless Holly, the Holly that got attacked by the other bigger stronger girls in the school. The Holly that people stuffed into lockers. The Holly that was too flat to attract any boys' attention. Most importantly, the Holly who was nothing but Heisenberg's daughter. As she remembered her father, she felt the rage well inside her.

She didn't notice, what she was doing, as she charged the man who had bent her knife. In a blind rage of fury she lifted the 250 pound man as if he were no heavier than a classroom chair and threw him against the nearest wall. She ran over to him, picked his head up and slammed it against the wall. Then she did it again. And again. And again. With each repetition, there was more blood on her clothes.

Holly didn't stop till she shattered the man's skull and exposed the grey matter. She didn't notice that the last gang member had woken up and was reacting with horror at the scene unfolding before him.

As he turned around and began to flee, he stepped on arm of the first body that Holly had struck on the back of the head. This made Holly snap out of her stupor and realize what was going on around her.

The last gangster standing turned to look at Holly with a look of pure terror in his eye before he took off running. "So this is the level that I need to follow through till, before they realize" thought Holly.

He didn't make it very far. Holly ran after him and reached him in four steps. She then caught his neck in a tight vice like grip and held on as he screamed in agony. The blood vessels on his neck and the surrounding area began to swell. As if doing it for the hundredth time, Holly punctured the jugular and left the man to bleed out on to the pavement.

The first drug addled delinquent was unconscious. She could kill him, but she felt no satisfaction in attacking such a weak and obviously defenseless person. He would perish on his own anyways. That left only one overweight dangerous person to get rid of. It was the last of the three, so she had to enjoy this one.

Holly looked at her watch to see how much time she had left as she pondered her options.


	8. Cover up

Flynn knew that tone of voice all too well. Holly had no intention of calling him back. She would not even bother explaining it to him the next time they met. And it had happened enough number of times now, so Holly probably knew that he was onto her. Having your father as one of the country's most dangerous persons was not enough bad karma for him it seemed.

His sister was a monster too. And he was her enabler.

"Mr. White, sir."

Flynn looked up. He was still at the bank and was receiving concerned looks from Mark and Charlotte.

"Well, I guess there's nothing that we can do about it for today" he said with the cheery smile of a successful man. "I wanted to transfer some funds to my sister's account, but she thinks her yoga classes are more important than all that money in the bank."

"I understand. Mr. White" said Mark. "Kids, huh?"

"You betcha" said Flynn still smiling.

He gathered his belongings , got up and set out on his way. He heard a few whispers on his way out, whispers that seemed to be directed at him, but paid it no attention. He had more important things to do now, a more important place to reach.

Sepp Cronje was a practical man. He lived well within his means and was an extremely polite man by all accounts. He was extremely well organized, did his grocery shopping with a list that was made in alphabetical order.

Sepp's job required him to be thorough and systematic and very diligent. Sepp was Albuquerque's best and only forensics expert.

Sepp's personal fortune had increased in the last three years or so. Some people believed that Sepp was intelligent enough to have made wise investments. Others believed he had inherited significant fortunes from various relatives. But Sepp knew that the others would frown upon his source of wealth.

Tonight he drove towards his house, in a Mercedes Benz S-class, a car that no body else could affors on his salary. When he saw who was standing in his driveway, wearing the same disguise that he had worn the last time he visited, he felt his fortune was bound to increase some more.

Hiding his glee and putting on a sober face, Sepp walked out and met the son of the country's most notorious drug lord.

"Well, you can forget about it this time. No sir. Now I gave you a strict warning the first time and the second. I was in dire financial need then or else I wouldn't have sold my soul. It costs much to be me, and this time its not worth my integrity. You can take your cash and keep it with you sir, good old Sepp has standards to live up to and principles to abide by."

"I wasn't here to offer you any money Sepp" said Flynn.

Sepp stopped for a second at that. He might have overdone it. You couldn't be too overbearing with these types, he knew. It was never a good idea to kill the goose that lay the golden egg.

"Well, and I never said you were, good sir" said Sepp. His voice was a little nervous now and he was talking a lot faster. "Why don't you come on in and we can have a little chat, you and I. Maybe discuss our situation over a bottle of Jack."

"I don't drink, Sepp."

'Well, surely a bit of orange juice wont be too much. Maybe a nice juicy steak."

"No, thank you."

"What about Bacon? I heard your old man was a sucker for Bacon. Even ordered it under an alias while he was making his way back from…." Sepp stopped short without completing that sentence.

Flynn stared at him icily.

'Fuck me' Sepp swore internally. 'I really need to watch myself.'

Flynn calmly regarded the man to whom he had paid over half a million dollars as a bribe, just to keep him silent. At the time he had paid the bribe, Flynn had not expected it to be a recurring expense. Now he waited to see what Sepp's reaction would be. As the silence wore on, he sensed Sepp was getting uncomfortable. That was a good sign. Surely, he would soon try another offensive move. That was when Flynn would capitalize.

"Well, I'm sure that one of your guys fucked up, no?" said Sepp. "Surely, that's the only reason that a big man like you would ever pay attention to little man like me. Surely, that's why you here, no? To ask a favor from little Sepp. Of course, that's why you're here. Why else would you be here? I offer you friendship and wine, and you say it's best if you aren't seen in my company. Well, you've offended me and its going to cost you extra to make up for that."

"Like I said, Sepp, I'm not here to offer you more money."

"No?" said Sepp, momentarily confused then worried. Sepp was doing his best not to let his hand shake and kept his voice steady, but Flynn had already sensed it.

"I'm just returning from a nice little spot in our town. It seems that a few people had something of a problem there" said Flynn. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. It was one of those new age models, the ones with a high-resolution camera. Flynn flipped it open and showed Sepp a few pictures.

Sepp saw the pictures and turned away to puke. He made a mess over his lawns.

"No doubt, this has already been spotted by the police. It's only a matter of time before it turns up at forensics. Are you listening to me Sepp?"

Sepp was listening, but he was sick. He could smell the cheese from the burger he had eaten just two hours ago. His forehead was soaked with sweat as he stared down at his own vomit.

"Such a shame that things turned out this way" said Flynn. The bitterness in his voice was showing.

"It would be terrible if such a thing were to happen again. Do we have an understanding Sepp?"

The corrupt bureaucrat managed to make it to his feet. He nodded his assent.

"Then my work here is complete" said Flynn, feeling both a sense of relief and accomplishment. He walked away from the house and started moving in the direction where his car was parked two blocks away.

As soon as he was out sight, Sepp Cronje entered his house, now laden with many expensive possessions. As soon as he felt he would not be seen, he collapsed against the wall and began weeping uncontrollably.


	9. Burn it down

A/N: It is highly recommended that you watch the entire show, especially season 5 episode 12 before reading this chapter.

Holly arrived home to see an all too familiar car parked in the driveway. Normally, she would have been jubilant at the sight, but today was not such a good day. For one thing, she was covered in blood from head to toe. For another, she was still feeling the after effects of one of the best work outs that she had gotten in the last few months. She certainly wasn't in the mood to seek comfort; the surge of adrenaline that she was feeling ensured that much.

"Maybe he isn't at home right now" said a hopeful voice in Holly's head. "Maybe I can sneak in through the window on the first floor" said another.

These voices were shushed by the ringing of her cell phone. Predictably enough, it was Flynn.

"Hello" said Holly, a little tentatively.

" How's my favorite little sister doing?"

Holly hated it when Flynn played dumb. She could never pull it off herself and Flynn would always know what she was thinking. whenever they played this game she played with a permanent handicap.

"I'm your only little sister" she replied.

"That doesn't mean you aren't my favorite"

"Great, so when are you coming home?"

"I'm already here and I can see you where you're standing."

"Oh"

Holly walked the walk of shame into the house. Mom was, at least seemingly, not at home.

It was funny that she could take on an army of gangsters and still stand like a scared little child in front of her crippled older brother. He was panting harder than usual.

"I had to walk without my crutches again today, Holly" said Flynn. There was a note of hurt in his voice. He seemed tired, as if emotionally drained.

"I was at the butchery just a while back, when all of a sudden.." she started, the stopped immediately. Flynn didn't react. It seemed as if he was used to this routine. For a while Flynn seemed to be lost as if reliving some long forgotten memory. When he finally spoke his voice was cold.

"One day when I was around your age, maybe a little older, I came back home from school. The whole house was smelling of gasoline. I mean really smelling, reeking of it. The smell was all over the place, it seemed to be coming from the hall, from the kitchen, everywhere. I mean it wasn't just one part of each room either. The smell came from the carpet. It came from the sink. It came from the fridge. The handle of the phone was stinking of gasoline. Dad was at home. He had the air conditioning turned on and it was running full throttle and it didn't get the job done. Mom had this crazy look in her eye. I guess I didn't catch on at that point, but Mom knew something I didn't know. That's why she was so silent that day."

Flynn paused. Holly felt something inside her wrench hard and squeeze her heart. She felt like she was going through something much worse than what she had dealt out just a few hours ago.

"Dad had this whole story cooked up. He said that he was at this gas station, and there was this one mishap which somehow caused him to get drenched in gasoline and that when he came home he tried to get rid off the smell and that somehow it wouldn't go."

Flynn paused again. Holly felt like she would shrink and disappear if she didn't say something at this point.

"And you believed him?" she asked, wondering if this was the event that had led her brother to develop his sixth sense regarding others.

Flynn snorted. The façade of the warm gentle older brother was completely gone now. What remained was a bitter, hardened cynic.

"Of course not. Dad was stuttering completely. Through and through. It didn't take a genius to see that he was fibbing about something. The thing is, at the time, Dad was back on chemo. I knew he was taking new medication. He had just recovered unexpectedly less than a year ago. It didn't take me very long to guess at what had just happened.

I was an idiot. Gosh, how clever I thought I was to figure it all out. But I was naïve back then and everyday of my life since Dad was finally killed, I keep thinking to myself that I should have known better. I should have been able to figure it out. I could have kept our family from falling apart. Didn't he know that he was more valuable to us alive than all the money and power in the world?

I had spent all of my waking time a few months earlier creating a website, just to earn money so that the bastard could get his treatment properly done. Yes, I was blinded and completely taken aback by my own biases, by my own special idea that Dad was a hero fighting off cancer so that I could drive fast cars and play video games.

And because of that foolishness, I confronted him. I told him he had no business trying to lie to us. Told him it was obvious that he had passed out and that the chemo was taking its toll on him. I don't know what I was thinking. I don't remember now, it was all so long ago. I think a part of me was trying to show off, trying to take credit for learning so quickly the true reason why Dad was soaked in gasoline. Another part of me genuinely cared, was genuinely concerned for him. Yet another part just wanted to tell him that I was there for him and that he needn't worry so much, that we were going to protect him the way he protected us."

Flynn broke down into tears. His sobs were long and hysterical now.

"It seemed wonderful then, he immediately conjured up these wonderful images of a grand vacation. He took mom and me to this great hotel. I was given a room all to myself. All pay per view channels paid for in advance. Room service and the entire menu at my beck and call, I must've ordered for so many chocolate milkshakes and tuna sandwiches in those three days. In my excitement, I even ordered one of the restaurants champagnes and it wasn't one of the cheaper ones either. I was hoping that Dad would be feeling nice enough to let it slip, and he did allow me to sip from the bottle at one of our poolside family parties earlier, so I figured he wouldn't mind. But do you really want to know what happened? He didn't even notice the extra amount. When we checked out of the hotel a few days later. It didn't matter to him, he didn't care what I was consuming, what I was doing. I went back and raided the mini bar and asked them to add it to the tab. The bill just turned up and dad signed it without a second thought.

"But my biggest mistake" he continued, "was offering him an explanation. Offering him something that he could grab at and get a free pass for. I offered him a way out; he saw the direction in which my mind was working and he used that against me. I shouldn't have told him what I thought."

Flynn looked stronger now. Healthier even. His eyes were blood red, but he had regained much of his composure. He looked at Holly evenly and asked her "You do know what actually happened that day, don't you?"

Holly nodded. She knew. She had heard the story a number of times from both her mother and aunt Marie, though her mother told this particular story more often. It clearly haunted her. Several years ago, her father's former student and main accomplice, Jesse Pinkman had broken into their home.

Jesse was far younger than what her father was at that time, probably a few years older than Flynn. Though he was her father's prime accomplice, he had an inherently unstable personality. After her father's death, Jesse had gone missing. Nobody on the planet knew where he was or what he was doing. The aura around her father had extended to Pinkman. The media couldn't get enough of Heisenberg after all.

There were entire websites dedicated to analyzing the personality of Heisenberg. But for every twenty Heisenberg websites, there was also one talking about Pinkman. Two of Jesse's close friends had been taken into custody shortly after her father's death. They were facing close to twenty years of imprisonment due their involvement with Pinkman and Heisenberg. But they managed to significantly reduce that sentence by offering "relevant information", to a number of smaller drug operations. They were "smurfs" after all.

Holly remembered going through a number of these websites when she was younger.

She had done so even though Flynn had warned her, telling her that it wasn't good for her mental health. She had in her mind's eye, an image of a young man, complete with all the inkwork on his left arm. She had seen a number of pictures, of several different varieties, all of them showing him wearing different jackets. In Holly's mind, Jesse Pinkman was an unstable wild card. A reckless, young man incapable of basic self control. Not that she was in any position to judge the actions of others as violent. But still…

The websites that Holly had perused seemed to say similar things and she had been browsing these sites for so long that it had become difficult to tell whether her impression of Jesse was formed by the websites, or whether her pre-existing impression of Jesse had drawn her to those websites. By all accounts, Jesse did seem to have some virtuous traits. There was police evidence by way of a videotape showing Jesse confessing that the breaking point in his relationship with Heisenberg was the fact that he had no hesitation in using children to further his agenda. The two close friends of Jesse that had been apprehended, corroborated this by saying that Jesse was a good guy and though he had bouts of violence, he had never attacked a woman or a child.

They also claimed to have met her father on several occasions. Flynn himself had once confided in her that he had met both of them.

Holly had always felt that she had known her father. Known him from the stories that Mom told her, but also known him instinctively. She had a vague memory of a man, kissing her forehead when she was a baby, but that was the hallmark of a kind and gentle man. Why then, was he to be remembered as a killer and drug lord. Surely, Jesse and countless others deserved the title more. Most of them had been criminals long before Heisenberg and continued to be long after his demise. _Because he was good at what he did._

Jesse on the other hand was not. Jesse was the villain here. Jesse had entered that fateful day with the intent to burn the house to the ground. To leave her and her family helpless. _And uncle hank had known about it and used the situation, just to get ahead on the job._

Flynn looked at Holly and as if reading her mind said "I never saw it that way either then. We just chastised Dad for getting involved in the wrong sort of activity and putting all of us in danger. We didn't realize that at the time, he was actually being more virtuous than most of us would have been had we been in that position. He was trying to protect us and he did his best to make sure that we weren't worried. He wasn't worried about the hotel bill, not because he didn't care, but because he cared too much. He was so worried about the next move that he would have to make that he didn't have enough time to worry about hotel bills. Sometimes, I'm not so sure myself Holly. Are we just rationalizing his actions because he was dad?"

Holly sat down next to her brother. "I was too young, but I'm sure that you knew him from before didn't you?"

Flynn nodded. He knew what she was alluding to. The fifteen years of working two jobs. Enduring the day time embarrassment of being at the mercy of spoilt brats and the evening embarrassment of working for an ungrateful employer. All of that for the sake of his children. There was absolutely no way that someone would do that if there wasn't something dear to behold. Flynn of all people knew that now.

Flynn straightened. This conversation had not gone as he had planned. He did want to make sure that he got through to Holly, but he had himself gotten carried away in the process.

He turned to Holly. Despite the detour the conversation had taken, he could tell by looking at her face that she had grasped the original intent. It was no longer possible to pull a fast one on Walter White Jr. She had returned home covered in blood. She was not going to be able dodge this bullet.

"I'm sorry, Flynn" she said. Her mind was racing as she struggled to present herself in an appeal for sympathy. "Those guys weren't exactly decent human beings either. They did have all sorts of pills and they were doing something to a girl over there as well" Holly stammered out.

Flynn's eyes were wide, but held no trace of sympathy. "I have these urges. I can't really control myself" said Holly. The barely thirteen year old girl, who had already grown into a living weapon was on the verge of tears as she stared at her elder brother. But at least this time, there was a reaction. A hopeful one.

Flynn looked at his younger sister. "There may be a chance yet, to make this family survive" he said.


	10. Lwyr up

The man's ID matched his face, but Arthur was sure that he had seen Hans Rolfe Litt somewhere before. "Have I seen you on TV?" he asked, handing the driver's license back.

"Nope, dont think so" said the Cinnabon store owner "but hey, I get that all the time. A few people mistake me for Brad Pitt."

"Get outta here" said Arthur as both men started laughing. "I got what you're looking for. And hey, if ya do kill someone, then I'm sure I'd see your mug shot next to Brad Pitts'"

"Yeah, the internet'll go crazy. Brad Pitt goes from Lady Killer to Serial Killer" came the reply, amidst more laughter.

A few minutes later, Saul Goodman was walking out of the store having purchased his first weapon ever. He should have done it when Walter was alive. It might have made him feel more secure. Maybe he would have been able to think straight then.

Too late to cry over spilt milk. He needed it now. It had been 16 years since Heisenberg had disappeared. But Saul had a feeling that the prodigal son was going to be every bit as dangerous if not more. He had stood up to the man so many years ago after all. He had made the phone call that finally tore that family apart. And years later, he had retained the hatred and turned down the money, the diseased ill earned money that he had once again been offered. All this against Heisenberg.

There was no way this kid was not dangerous. The only question was how much. Saul was soon going to find out.


End file.
